The Libertine: Comet Rising, Earl of Rochester
by Rochester's Wit
Summary: The Libertine: Movie Johnny Depp. John Wilmot, The young Earl of Rochester. His greatest romance is frought with struggle, as is the Court of King Charles II! Please Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1: The Discovery

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**FILM: The Libertine (2004)** _John Wilmot, The young Earl of Rochester. His greatest romance is fraught with struggle, as is the Court of King Charles II! Please Read and Review!_

**RATED - T - **Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

_No copyright infringement is taking place. John Wilmot, the Earl of Rochester was a historical figure and therefore is not the property of anyone! The recent movie does not depict the early years of his life in any depth. Please read and review!_

**Chapter 1: THE DISCOVERY**

_London, July 1666, Whitehall Palace Posted: 2 March 2006_

Elizabeth Mallet stood near the window of the large room. Before her danced handsome couples clad in the latest fashions of the court. Around her young women her own age chattered and giggled conspiratorially. She glanced over at them. Just yesterday she had been one of them, but now she felt a whole world separated her from them, and she didn't even understand why. It was all so confusing! She gazed out the window and so did not see the tall King coming her direction. The man stopped when he saw her and came to her side.

"Elizabeth? Is something wrong my dear?" he asked with a gentle touch to her elbow. The teen aged girl clad in the fancy ball gown turned to him, her features pale and eyes very misty. Her hands twisted a small hanky she held with great tension. She quickly looked down and away.

The King looked around the room and saw no sign of her ever-present guardians. He took her elbow and guided her away from the others, to a quiet corner, where he turned her to face him.

"Has someone here at Court upset you, love?" he asked with fatherly affection. She looked up at him, her eyes nearly overflowing with tears.

"He – he- he's dead – isn't he?" she breathed fearfully. The King frowned down at her. She twisted the hanky into a tight corkscrew and took a gulp.

"I - I heard about it in the town – we – were shopping for gloves – stupid gloves – when a man posted a notice and read it out loud. It was a notice from the battle. It – it said over 1800 English sailors had been lost, and 8 ships… and – and – and … it said all the volunteers had been killed, save for one, on – his ship." She blurt out tearfully. The King was surprised at her reaction.

He had received the same news 2 days before and had also been worried. In fact, the news of so many lives lost had made him feel sick to his stomach. He had not slept a wink all night. And yes, the news of the volunteers had been most distressing. He had instantly thought of one very bright young man of whom he'd become quite fond, despite his occasional mis-adventures. He had gotten up at 4 in the morning to personally rouse a messenger to request the name of the lone survivor. There had not been that many of them on that particular ship. He was a bit surprised she even would know which ship he was on – unless she was talking about someone else entirely – which was much more likely to be the case with this young lady. The young lady stared up at him, reading her own interpretation into his silence.

"I – I – I know what you're thinking your majesty…. Ever since Lord Rochester abducted me that night from my grandfather's carriage, I've been cold, at times even rude to him… but I never wanted him to die!" she burst out with, the tears now suddenly flowing. Charles blinked in surprise. He pulled her away, putting an arm around her to conceal the flood of tears as he quickly escorted her out the nearest door to an empty hallway. He hated it when women cried – even ones still in their teen years. He took the hanky from her, unwound it and shook it out.

"Hush now Elizabeth – please, don't cry." He said urgently. She took it from him and quickly wiped at her face with it, not daring to meet his intense gaze.

"Oh I can just imagine what you must think of me your majesty. First I'm telling everyone how much I abhor him… He's nothing but a poverty-stricken poppin-jay who wants only my fortune and thought he could get it by kidnapping me…. When others told me he had inquired of my health, I did not even bother to wonder – I rudely told them they had no business even tolerating him saying my name aloud! I had suitors everywhere I looked – that now my grandfather and stepfather have scared away – but that's not it! He's so young – so clever and witty… he makes everyone around him laugh and he's so polite to the ladies he is with – so kind and gentle and graceful… I – I – I don't want him to be dead!" she burst out with all in a rush, the last breaking into sobs. The King of England considered the crying young girl before him and gently drew her into his arms where she sobbed into his coat in great earnest.

Women! Who could ever figure them out! He tried to think of something reassuring to say to her.

"Elizabeth – I don't know that Lord Rochester has perished. I can assure you that I hope and pray he has not. There were not all that many volunteers on the ship – and Johnnie is a very intelligent, clever young man. Now as for your suitors – was there one you wished to get to know better that your guardians never allowed? Perhaps I could help remedy that." He said, and she vehemently shook her head against his cloak.

"I just want to see him alive…. Even if he does hate me for how rude I've been." She breathed tearfully and sobbed again. The King arched an eyebrow down at her severely.

"I know for a fact that he does not hate you my dear. Not in the slightest. I have sent a messenger to find out who the survivor is, but he has not returned yet. I am hoping myself he will bring me the good news that the young scoundrel is still in one piece." He tried to tell her lightly.

Instantly her head came up and she wiped at her eyes as she considered him.

"Will – will you please tell me – when you find out? I'd much rather hear such news from you if I must hear it at all. I could not bear to hear my grandfather sounding pleased at his demise. He didn't mean to frighten me, and he certainly didn't hurt me – he – he was just over enthusiastic is all." She said quickly and he nodded without even thinking. Instantly she hugged him, standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss on his lower jaw.

"Thank you your majesty – thank you." She breathed a little unevenly, then stepped away and made her excuses to rejoin the ball, leaving him staring after her in sheer bewilderment. For months and months now she had had nothing good to say of the effervescent young Earl who had indeed let his heart rule his head that night… and now here she is crying over the same young man? He decided that teen aged girls were even harder to predict than the full grown version!

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The King was grateful that Court was nearly over with. He abhorred these most often tedious petitions. Most might be worthy of his interest, but after nearly 2 hours of them he barely even registered what it was that they wanted! He gazed across the room and saw a man slip in through the door and stay at the very back of the room. He caught his breath silently, staring. It was the messenger he had drug out of bed 4 days ago, long before dawn to send on this errand. He couldn't wait to see the man – and just as quickly he dreaded it. What if the news were not as he hoped? He coughed, choking on his drink, unable to tear his eyes from staring at the man at the far end of the room.

The Duke of Buckingham took notice and followed his gaze. He alone of the entire palace knew what information the King had sent this man to discover for him – well the Duke and one very pretty young lady. He saw Buckingham excuse himself from the man he had been quietly talking to and head in the direction of the messenger. He focused suddenly on the petitioner before him, not willing to see a look of sadness and regret come to Buckingham's face when he heard what the man had to say. Suddenly, he didn't want to know. Young Rochester was still alive in his mind, and he didn't want to envision the young man lost to them or even contemplate how he might have come to that fate.

Young Earls were supposed to be refined, witty, graceful, handsome, passionate, reckless, energetic, and vibrantly alive… Not lying at the bottom of the sea or draped in tarpaulin and stored with the other dead for the final journey home to a small plot of ground. Charles hurriedly granted whatever it was the petitioner requested and dismissed the court with the fastest speed ever. He rose and descended from the throne, waving away any who seemed to want to approach him, earning him many puzzled frowns. He might as well not wait for the dreadful news.

With a very heavy heart he made his way slowly down the length of the room until he came to the two. For a moment he closed his eyes and reigned himself in tightly. He was the King, THE King…. Whatever the news was, he must maintain his composure and appearance. He opened his eyes, not even daring to breathe as Buckingham turned to him. Suddenly the Duke broke out in a broad grin and offered him a small, rather grubby looking envelope, its outside bearing the address only of 'To my King' – in a familiar scrawl.

Charles let his breath out all at once, feeling slightly dizzy with relief, looking from the envelope, to the Duke, to the messenger. The man smiled at him mildly.

"I was fortunate enough to be able to catch up to the actual ship itself sire. The '_Royal Charles'_ was actually not that far off shore. I thought you would want the fullest accounting possible. I was directed to Lord Rochester almost as soon as I was granted permission to board. One of the older sailors said he had a friend and fellow volunteer literally die in his arms and had been very quiet since. Mr. Middleton, I'm afraid, sire. Captain Spragge thought it might do young Rochester good to have someone inquire after him." He said and the King cleared his throat softly.

"You saw him? He is unharmed?" he asked and the man smiled.

"Well, he had a small bandage around perhaps 4 inches of his left arm just above his wrist. Little bit of a bruise and a few scrapes here and there. He told me that a rather large splinter had sliced him up a little flying past him – but he says it isn't giving him much bother. He seemed perhaps a little pale and needed a good bath, a clean shirt and a good nights' sleep, I would say. He was quite amazed that you bothered to send someone. He said he's received no messages from anyone at all, not even his mother." He said and the King looked relieved.

"But he's all right?" he asked again and the messenger smiled and shrugged.

"Oh, I'd say perhaps a little shaken up. A few of the other men told me he'd been very brave, hadn't frozen under fire, had had the presence of mind and luck to move out of his position just before it all exploded. He was only a few feet away at the time Mr. Middleton was wounded. The sailors on the '_Royal Charles'_ seemed fond of the boy actually. Told me not to worry, he'd be fine and his family could be proud of the lad. They felt that for his tender years, he'd done extremely well. In the thick or it all, when the Captain wanted a message delivered to another ship that was not acting as he wished, he was unable to get a single seaman to volunteer to go – they all thought it was insanely suicidal. Not a one of them was willing to do it. So - young Lord Rochester up and volunteered. Rowed himself through a hail of cannon fire and gunshot and everything else they could throw – and they never managed to hit him. Well, not really. The men seem to consider it something on the scale of a miracle that he managed not to get himself killed doing it. His Lordship bid me wait while he wrote you a message, and I am to convey his apologies for its brevity, but he was truly surprised anyone had even thought of him." He said of the envelope. Charles looked grim at hearing the story.

Now he accepted the note offered by Buckingham, and bid the messenger his grateful thanks and opened it, Buckingham at his side. The King frowned mildly at what he read.

"What's wrong?" Buckingham asked quickly and Charles seemed lost in thought, and then remembered the messenger.

"I'd like you to come see me in the morning please, right after breakfast. I'll have a reply I'll want you to deliver to his Lordship, no matter how you have to catch up with him." He said and the man nodded willingly. After he had gone, Buckingham frowned at the King.

"Charles, what's' wrong? What did Rochester say in that note? May I see it?" he asked and the King sighed.

"No, actually it was personal… although he did want me to give you his regards and tell you to have a drink for him if you have a chance." He said and the Duke looked very skeptical. Charles smiled and pat him.

"No, seriously George – it's very short. He mentions that he's not sure exactly why he would still be here when the others are not. He says that it seems very regretful since he knows that Lord Middleton's family will greatly grieve his loss, while it seems to him that no one would notice if it were himself. He says that just does not seem right to him – it should be Middleton who is left alive instead. I just want to write him a few words of encouragement. You're welcome to add your own if you'd like." He told him and George quickly frowned.

"That doesn't sound like Johnnie at all," he said quietly and Charles sighed as he considered the roomful of people.

"No, it doesn't. However, considering what I was afraid I was going to hear – I will accept it and be glad of it. That's the last time he's going to sea though – you can mark my words on that. 1800 men lost and 1500 wounded? I didn't' let him volunteer for service with the fleet so he could have the opportunity to volunteer for suicidal missions involving rowboats. What in the name of heaven was Spragge thinking of, letting him do that! At this rate there won't be a single young man left alive in England before the decade is out!" he half growled and George nodded with an unhappy look.

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**Recommended Reading:**

**1) A PROFANE WIT: The Life of John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, **Author: James William Johnson. Publisher: University of Rochester Press. Year – 2004. ISBN:1580461700.

**2) LORD ROCHESTER'S MONKEY: Being the Life of John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester**, Author: Graham Greene. Publisher: Viking Press. Year – 1974. ISBN: 670440558


	2. Chapter 2: The Royal Charles

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**FILM: The Libertine (2004)** _John Wilmot, The young Earl of Rochester. His greatest romance is fraught with struggle, as is the Court of King Charles II! Please Read and Review!_

**RATED - T - **Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

_No copyright infringement is taking place. John Wilmot, the Earl of Rochester was a historical figure and therefore is not the property of anyone! The recent movie does not depict the early years of his life in any depth. Please read and review!_

**Chapter 2: THE ROYAL CHARLES**

_August 1666, at sea, off the shores of England _

The messenger grabbed hold of a rope as the ship took a sideways dip, surprising him. The sailor beside him grinned, showing more than a few missing teeth.

"Never been at sea, have y' sir?" he asked. The messenger shook his head. He wasn't about to voice how much he already wished that were not the case at that very minute!

"No, I'm afraid not. It really is amazing how quickly you've made repairs since the battle. Did you put into port?" he asked, looking around as they moved along the rail of the frigate 'The Royal Charles".

"No, just commandeered a few things is all sir. Now, who is it the Captain said you was lookin' for?" he asked as he looked up at the tall, tall masts and rigging of the ship. The messenger followed his gaze, grabbing another rope as now the ship tilted in the opposite direction. Above them the motion was severely amplified, sending the masts suddenly swinging a good 20 feet or more through the air, and the men upon it as well. They men above did not seem to even notice, but the messenger's stomach certainly did. He swallowed dryly.

"Lord Rochester – if you please sir?" he asked and the man nodded, looking upwards again, now using a grubby hand to block out the sun. The messenger followed his gaze, his eyes widening in alarm.

"His lordship isn't up - THERE – is he?" he breathed. The ship creaked as suddenly as its' bow dipped downwards and the messenger was forced to stagger a step, clutching quickly at the railing.

"Rochester? Sure he is! The lad seems to have taken a real liking to it. Anytime we need men aloft that one is half way up before the others even get started. Good lad." The sailor praised sincerely, and then cupped his hands to his mouth.

"Rochester! Come on down lad!" he bellowed upwards.

There came a downwards sinking of the messenger's stomach as the large frigate rode into the depression side of the ocean swell, banners above fluttering brightly. The man held on tighter, glad he had not eaten shortly before.

The sailor who was his guide hollered again, and this time a lithe figure way, way, way near the very top of the tallest swaying mast raised a hand in acknowledgement – then quickly grabbed hold as the ship dipped to one side. The messenger put his free hand to his mouth in silent prayer, eyes wide still.

He swallowed dryly as he watched the young man quickly move to a thinner rope and climb down a bit. Then he took up another and used it to swing down a long distance. The ship rocked, swinging him outwards over the railing and the messenger gasped in alarm. The sailor beside him chuckled in amusement as the young man above landed on a cross beam quite casually.

"Get down here, y' monkey! You'll end up in the drink, and it'll serve y' right!" he scolded lightly.

The young man took a shorter rope and now swung down to the wooden deck not far away. He landed quite solidly and sure of himself.

"I won't end up in the drink Smithy, and even if I did, I know how to swim. Besides, you'd fish me out – you'd have to considering it's my night to be giving out the rum rations!" he retorted brightly as he came over. The sailor laughed, cuffing the young man affectionately on the head.

The messenger smiled widely. It was impossible not to. The 18 year old young man before him was thin, his smile even and confident, if slightly teasing, his dark eyes ablaze with the energy of youth. His white shirt was no cleaner than the older sailor's, which meant it had definitely seen more than a few days of use, his breeches were slightly stained, his boots well worn and a length of cloth tied around his waist was positively grubby with dark smudges, but he was definitely not troubled by any of this. He took up an end of the cloth to wipe at his hands, which were quite dark and smeared liberally with something that looked quite unspeakable. The messenger frowned with distaste.

"Tha's pitch sir, so he don't fall off the lines. Old sailor's trick. Won't hurt him none. It'll come off – with a few weeks of hard scrubbin'," the sailor grinned. The young man laughed softly and nodded. He considered the messenger and recognized him.

"Mr. Marston, I remember you from before. How can I assist you sir?" he asked cheerfully.

"I bring messages, Lord Rochester. From his Majesty, and the Duke of Buckingham," the messenger told him. The young man looked quite surprised.

"From the King? Messages for me? And from Bucks? Is something wrong?" he asked with a frown. Mr. Marston shook his head quickly. He fumbled at the leather packet attached to his belt. The ship tipped forward and he nearly fell, clutching quickly at the railing instead.

"No, no, no, my Lord! Everything is fine that I am aware of. Just – correspondence I believe – friendly correspondence." He said as the ship began to tilt sideways in the other direction. The older sailor looked surprised and considered the young man.

"Letters from the King? And his grace you say? Well sink me t' Davey Jones Locker!" he reacted with. Rochester blushed mildly.

"It's probably conveying missives from my mother Smithy. Be a good boy – say your prayers – read your bible – turn away from sin. She's in service at the court." He told the man. The sailor chuckled lightly.

"Well take the gent below then so he's can hand 'em over without takin' a swim. It's nearly time for supper anyway. Let 'im stay – see how hard we try to put some meat on those skinny bones of yers!" he said with a jab at Rochester's side, making him grin again.

Marston nodded quickly. He'd feel a lot safer with solid walls, which were not quite as apt to allow one to be tossed overboard by the ship's constant moving about in every direction imaginable!

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Rochester pushed aside the grey blanket that hung from a heavy beam to divide off a small area at the rear of the boat below decks. He hung the lantern he carried from a hook screwed into the wooden ceiling and turned back, seeming rather embarrassed.

"I'm afraid there's not much room," he said in apology as the messenger stepped into the small area. He looked around curiously. He had not seen the young man's quarters the last time he had come.

The area was small, no longer than the wooden bunk it held. He was glad to see the young aristocrat was not sleeping in a rope hammock at least! Over the foot of the bed was a small, enclosed set of two shelves that had netting over the front to hold things in. There were several books stacked there and other small objects. The bunk was a tangle strewn with blankets that Rochester made a hurried swipe at straightening and pulling the covers up over.

A rather small sea trunk sat near the other end of the bed. The dark wood of the ship made the area seem close, but snug and it gave at least the impression of sheltered safety. Rochester climbed up onto the bunk and moved to the end near the shelves, his legs and feet hung off the bunk casually.

"I wouldn't advise sitting on the trunk – I managed to spill ink trying to write something there last night. Bottles of ink and moving ships do not seem to agree with each other." He remarked casually, and gestured at the rest of the empty bunk beside him. Marston smiled as he sat down.

"How is your arm healing?" he asked, noticing a dirty scrap of wrapping under the lad's shirtsleeve. The one looked down at it and frowned mildly.

"Not too badly now. It got infected after a couple of days, but the ship's surgeon cleaned it out with hot water, lye soap and alcohol. It has another bandage on under this one, and linen under that. It got me out of washing dishes though!" he said easily. The messenger frowned mildly with concern.

"They have you washing dishes?" he asked and the young man smiled and shrugged.

"It's a lot better to just be one of them Mr. Marston. Besides, I like them really, and I don't mind. They all take turns at working in the galley it seems. The cook tells wonderful stories though. Of sea serpents and mermaids and deadly sirens… he's almost as good as Homer!" he said and the messenger chuckled as now he opened the packet and removed two envelopes that he gave the young man.

He watched as the young man opened the one from the King first, pulling out what turned out to be a good 3 pages of writing that he seemed to only quickly scan, then put back. He opened the next to find another good 2 pages of writing and scanned that as well, then folded it and put it back. He stood up and carefully placed them inside the netting with the books.

"Will you have a reply my Lord?" Marston asked and Rochester shook his head with a mildly sheepish look.

"No, I didn't see anything that needed one. But, I'll save them for tonight to truly enjoy. It's more than kind of you to deliver them. Besides, I'm afraid when I spilled the ink that was the last of it. No one seems to have ink here, aside from the Captain, and he's not going to let me use his just for my scribbles." He said and the messenger smiled at him.

"I am sure he would if you wished to write a response to his Majesty." He suggested and the young man looked suddenly reluctant. The messenger wondered why.

"I'd rather not have to ask him." He said lowly, looking away soberly.

"Have you not been getting along, my Lord?" Marston asked kindly and the one made a face of dismay.

"No, that's not it. But, after you came the last time, he was very grumpy whenever he saw me doing anything. Then he got all upset about my arm. It wasn't that bad really but he had the doctor come in here to see me. Told him to make me stay in bed until the fever was gone… it was embarrassing!" he said and the messenger smiled at him kindly.

"Well, he might have been justified a little my Lord. It would be a shame for you to lose a hand from a splinter. He may have just been trying to make sure you didn't pay an unfair price for your bravery. I did bring him a message today from his Majesty – before I was brought to see you." He said and Rochester frowned.

"Do you know what it said?" he asked and the one sighed and shrugged.

"No, I didn't read it. Probably just words of encouragement and appreciation for Captain Spragge's efforts. But I do think the King was rather anxious about the incident with the rowboat during the battle. He might have mentioned something regarding that." He said and the young man grinned at him.

"That was rather splendidly exciting. I'd not want to do it again tomorrow though!" he said cheerfully and the messenger couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"Is there anything you need my Lord? Anything I can have sent to you?" he asked and the young man quickly shook his head.

"No, I've been fine really. You've already brought me the best thing I could have asked for!" he said and Mr. Marston smiled more.

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The young man tossed in his bunk, far more than the sea was forcing him to. He frowned deeply in his sleep, his breath speeding up as his heartbeat raced. One hand fisted into the blankets and he mumbled incoherently. His muscles stiffened as he gave a soft moan, perspiration breaking out on his forehead. The ship creaked softly as it moved, making the very dimly lit lantern swing from its strong hook in the beam above him.

He tossed his head restlessly, eyes darting beneath the closed lids. He mumbled softly as he rolled onto his back. His breathing picked up, faster, quicker, until he was panting breathlessly. He gave a deep groan as he seemed to freeze, and then suddenly with a jerk he bolted up in the bunk, stifling a cry of alarm. He froze, blinking into the dimness, but there was no sound from the other side of the blanket. Shaking still, he wiped at his face, trying to catch his breath.

"It was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream," he whispered to himself anxiously, but it wasn't really helping. He pushed aside the blankets some and rose up onto his knees, shaking harder now as the cold night air met the sweat on his skin. He turned up the lantern a bit and found the two letters he had put inside the netting for later reading. His teeth chattered lightly as he moved back, pulling up the blankets and bringing the pillow around to half hug as he opened one, his hands still shaking some.

He'd been having the bad dreams for weeks now. Since he'd boarded the ship in fact, so waking in the middle of the night shaking, cold and frightened was getting to be a far too familiar thing – but he didn't know how to make it stop. How did one keep the images of spattered brains and spilled intestines and the horrific shrieks of dying friends out of one's mind when you were asleep?

Good Lord, what he wouldn't give for a bottle of wine right now. A couple of bottles even! He'd pretty much given up hard drinking during the years of his Grand Tour through Europe. For years even. At first, at the court he had even resisted the urges of the others to join them in the pursuit of sodden cheer. But, the bad dreams left from the death of his friends in this violent war had haunted him persistently.

Wyndham and he had made a pact. A pact, which pledged that if one of them, was killed, he would appear to the other to tell them of the nature of the afterlife. They had sworn solemnly, even made it a religious bond between them…. and now it had been over a year since his friend had been blown into oblivion on the deck of the' Revenge', before his very eyes… and Mr. Montegu as well.

And – Wyndham had never come. Not even once. Not even a hint of him. Not even so much as a wisp. So – if there were no such things as heaven or hell – if man were nothing more than skin and bones and blood – well that made the idea of dying all that more terrifying. It almost made one wish it would just happen so you did not have to dread it in one's future! He shivered hard, more from his thoughts than from the cold.

Enough of this! If he didn't find a way to distract himself – it would be dawn before he knew it – and he'd had enough nights like that here recently. This was exactly why he had saved the two letters.

He read through both quickly, then read the one from the King again – and again – and again! The young Miss Mallet had really been concerned about him? Surely she was jesting – making fun of him in some way! The young lady in question possessed both beauty, and a very sharp tongue, he knew that for fact. He'd heard of her reactions to him even asking after her health – had something changed?

He threw himself back onto his bunk and stared up at the low ceiling, not seeing it. Was it even remotely possible that she didn't completely hate him with every fiber of her lovely being? He'd certainly thought she did. God only knew her stepfather and grandfather certainly gave him the evil eye anytime he so much as breathed loudly.

All of a sudden, it occurred to him that maybe he'd like to survive this mess and get back to London after all!

**Recommended Reading:**

**1) THE SATYR: An Account of the Life and Work, Death and Salvation of John Wilmot 2nd Earl of Rochester.** Author: Cephas Goldsworthy. _Publisher: Weidenfeld & Nicholson. _Year / ISBN:2001 / 0297643193

**2) THE LETTERS OF JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER **Author: Jeremy Treglown. Publisher: University of Chicago Press. Year/ISBN: 1980 / 0226811816


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